


Halfway House

by FeyduBois



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curtain Fic, De-Aged Dean Winchester, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2428169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeyduBois/pseuds/FeyduBois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Holy Wars are over and Castiel has been given a special mission: re-raising the Winchesters from the time of the fire. No demons this time around - no ghosts, werewolves, angels, or anything else that goes bump in the night, just a nearly-human, socially awkward Castiel attempting to raise two boys on his own in an old farmhouse and all of the adorable things that ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 23rd

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to have multiple (short) chapters without a huge amount of plot, no idea how many yet.  
> Seriously though, this is just pointless fluff, but it's cute fluff so enjoy. :D

It was done.

The apocalypse had been averted, humanity had been saved, the angels and demons were all returned to their rightful corners – all except one: Castiel was left on Earth with a special assignment. In return for all they had done Sam and Dean Winchester were given a second chance. Well, it wasn't exactly a second chance for the Sam and Dean that Castiel knew, it was a chance for them to live as if they had never hunted. Of course the dead could not be brought back and time could not be altered; however, their souls could be placed in bodies exactly like those they had back then and their memories could be wiped to the moments after the fire. 

As far as young Dean Winchester knew his parents had just died in a house fire and his godfather, Castiel, was there to pick up the pieces and care for him and Sam. He had no recollection of Cas prior to then but the man was kind enough. He brought them to an old farm house where there was a dog and a big yard, idyllic even in the cold, wet November typical of Oregon. Still, Dean did not want to talk to Castiel.

Cas knew that Dean hadn't spoken for an entire month after his mother's death in the fire. He had found that out by going back and observing the boys with their father, watching how John had gone about caring for them, just so he would know what to expect. Separating them was not ideal, and he figured rather than scuzzy motel rooms and overly concerned serving staff that they needed some peace and fresh air to sort things out so Castiel used the funds given to him to purchase the farm house, a bargain because of its age and remoteness, and to fill the fridge with food and the closets with clothes and toys.

Bragging that he would do a better job than John Winchester seemed unfair. In his observations into the past Cas realized that John was overcome completely with grief for his wife and that he therefore did not address Dean's grief appropriately. However, Cas, who was in full possession of a rational mind, did vow to do things differently from John. He had hoped that being present for Dean would help avert some of the emotional damage of losing a parent, and it might have worked, except that Dean was dealing this time around with losing two parents.

This time he didn't speak for six weeks straight.

Cas caught him at last one day when he was coming back from buying groceries. He knew he ought not to leave them unattended but after their last foray into town caused Dean to have a mental breakdown at Santa's workshop in the mall he thought it best to leave them and simply shop as quickly as possible. After the breakdown he was uncertain if he ought to do a Christmas or not, but it was now December 23rd and he thought perhaps a nice dinner tomorrow would be acceptable and then he could gauge Dean's reaction and see if the next morning would be a stockings-and-presents affair or just a regular morning, so he placed the heaping grocery bags on the kitchen counter and shuffled some things around in the fridge to fit the small turkey before heading upstairs. Outside the door to the boys' room (he had tried giving them separate ones but like magnets they'd drifted together again) he paused. 

Inside there was a voice, Dean's he realized, singing softly, “Hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better.”

Cas crept slowly towards the door which was open just a crack and hazarded a look inside. Dean was struggling to hold Sam, bouncing the fussy baby up and down.

“Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better... better, better, better, better...” Dean's small voice rose to a squeak and then cut off abruptly when he turned around and saw Cas peering at him.

Cas grinned awkwardly and held up his hands in defeat, “I just got home, sorry.”

“Guess you caught me, huh?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You heard me talk to Sammy.”

“I knew you could speak all along, I was just wishing that you would.”

“I was pretending.”

“Oh Dean,” Cas crouched, offering to take the heavy infant from him, “As I have been saying this whole time, whenever you're ready.”

Dean reluctantly handed Sam to Cas. Sam already recognized Cas and he smiled up at his protector and cooed. Cas began bouncing Sam up and down and the infant belched satisfactorily.

“Sammy likes you,” Dean commented.

“Yes, he is getting used to me,” Cas said, looking at Sam affectionately, “And I'll have to admit that have become rather fond of him.”

“He's my brother, I've gots to take care of him, that's what daddy said.”

“Of course Dean. I'm just here to help,” Cas could hear the tension in Dean's voice when he said 'daddy'; he wanted to hug him, to soothe him, but for now he diverted attention, “Do you want to change his diaper?”

Dean thought about that for all of two seconds, “You can do that.”

Cas inwardly chuckled and went about setting Sam up for the changing procedure he was already very familiar with. It wasn't pleasant, but he thought that it must be unpleasant for Sam to be wet so he did it as often as was needed, wipes and powder and all.

Dean watched Cas and Cas watched Dean from the corner of his eye while going through the motions. Once clean he picked Sam up and settled him onto his shoulder. Carefully he said to Dean, “I bought some special food for dinner tomorrow. Do you want to see what there is?”

“Christmas dinner, right?”

“Um, yeah, that's right. Is that alright with you?” They started heading downstairs to the kitchen, a country kitchen with faded floral wallpaper in yellow and blue and plenty of light from the window above the sink.

“Only us?”

“Of course.”

“I guess that's okay then. Do we need to go to church?”

“Not if you don't want to.”

“I don't,” Dean shook his head and told an angel of the lord that: “Church is boring.”

Cas smiled. Same Dean, even at this young age. He set Sam in his highchair and began unloading the groceries.

“Is that apple pie?” Dean asked.

“And pumpkin.”

“I love pie.”

Cas wanted to say 'I know' but he held it back because that was one of the best things he'd heard in a long while, “Would you like a piece right now, since two pies is a lot for just us to eat in one sitting tomorrow.”

“I can have pie before dinner?” Dean's eyes widened.

“Sure, why not. Sammy might like some pumpkin.”

“Yes please apple please!” Dean demanded. Cas chuckled and went about slicing the pie and heating up a slice of apple for him and Dean each in the microwave, finishing it with a slice of cheddar cheese as he had once seen served in a restaurant. The smell of cinnamon began to seep into the room, permeating the cracks in the tile and drywall, filling the kitchen with an aroma that spoke of home and family.

Dean tucked in while Cas began feeding Sam a small amount of the pumpkin filling, all the while he made what Cas thought of as happy baby eating sounds, smacking his lips and giggling as he smeared a fistful of filling on Cas' shirt.

Somehow, Cas began to think for the first time, maybe he was doing this right.


	2. January 1st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowmen, hot chocolate, and talk of school.

New Year's morning dawned chill with some familiar but unnameable taste to the air. When Cas went to throw open the curtains to the living room brilliant white light washed in and he realized that the snow that had promised, but held out, through Christmas had fallen New Year's eve instead. He adjusted the sleepy Sam on his shoulder so that the infant could look out the window, his eyes large and enchanted at the sight, though uncomprehending of the meaning of the expanse of white. Dean would understand, but the child slept later than his young brother so at 7am Cas filled the heater with pellets and went about getting a bottle of formula warmed up in a shallow pan on the stove (he avoided microwaving it because of the potential for uneven heat pockets). Sam was taking small amounts of solid food, but only soft foods so far, and most of his calories still came from formula since he tended to get more food around his mouth (or on Cas) than in it.

Cas held the bottle for Sam at first, but soon his little fists were firmly wrapped around it as he sucked his breakfast down in gulps, gazing up at Cas with eyes that were in the process of changing from deep baby blue into their mature hazel. In the bright light they were closer to the colour he remembered adult Sam having, though perhaps they were just getting progressively closer to their final colour. Cas kept one hand loosely on the bottle to hold it in place as he went back up the creaky stairs of the little farm house, catching a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror. He paused for a moment to take it in, the ruffled hair, sleep-laden eyes, plaid flannel pyjamas and slippers, but a content smile grazing his lips. He looked like a mortal, he thought, an ordinary man made of yielding flesh and daily concerns, beautiful in a small way, nothing majestic or ancient; he was a compound being, made of moments and affections and one singular objective, to give these two little children the best lives possible on their second time around. 

From the hallway he went into Sam's nursery (his crib was in Dean's room since Dean still wouldn't bear to be separated from his brother) and sat in the rocking chair there. Bailey, the eight year old border collie that had come with the house, nosed her way out of Dean's room, trotted into the nursery, and settled on the rug. Bailey was a good dog, very calm in her old age, and gentle with the boys. She'd come with the house when the previous owner, a retired farmer and a widower, had passed away. He had died content in the hospital, Cas had checked, and the house did not seem to be haunted by anything except the lonely dog who had quickly attached herself to Dean. Cas glanced over at the small shelf of books, mostly children books though there were a couple of his own on the top shelf, and again began to contemplate what he ought to do next.

Dean's birthday was coming up towards the end of the month. He would be five years old, meaning that he would begin school in September, and Cas was considering preschool to get him socialized and started in formal schooling. Cas was uncertain if he was accredited to teach Dean; certainly he could read, write, count, and tie his own shoelaces, but to teach these skills to another person was an altogether different thing, and the socializing was important.

The shuffle of pyjamaed feet brought Cas' attention to the doorway, “Good morning Dean.”

“'Morning,” the little boy mumbled, coming in to sit on the rug next to Bailey who promptly rolled onto her back beseeching a belly rub which Dean was happy to grant, “What'cha thinking about?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Yes, something. You gots a frowny line on your forehead.”

“A frowny line?” the frown-line increased as Cas considered what it was, and then he grinned, “I guess I do. You're so clever, I can't keep anything from you, can I?”

Dean shook his head.

“I think you might be clever enough to start school soon. How would you like to go to school?”

“School?” Dean echoed.

“Yeah, you get to read books, play games, meet new friends.”

“I've gots friends, you and Sammy and Bailey.”

“Friends your own age.”

Dean thought hard, getting his own 'frowny line', and then shook his head adamantly, “No, I don't think I want to go to school.”

“Well, you're going to have to in September, but if you want to try a few days of preschool before then, just to see what it's like, you could.”

“No.”

“You don't have to decide now, just think about it, we can go take a look one of these days,” Sam had emptied the bottle so Cas settled the baby on his shoulder, resting against a towel, and began to rub his back, “In the meantime you should look out the window.”

“Why?”

“Just go and see.”

Dean walked over and peered outside, “SNOW! Cas, it snowded!”

“Yes Dean, it snowed last night.”

“Can we go outside? I wanna go outside!”

“Certainly, after breakfast we'll put on our winter clothes and go out.”

“Yeah!” Dean stampeded down the stairs and Cas followed slowly, Sam nestled in his arms still.

Dean could barely stay focused on finishing his breakfast of instant oatmeal while Cas, presently existing somewhere between angelic and mortal, ate as well because he legitimately needed to, although he could go a great deal longer without than a regular human. 

Once fed and dressed Cas opened the door for Dean who went barrelling out. Sam, stuffed into a baby-sized snowsuit on top of his onesie, was held in Castiel's arms and bouncing happily as he gazed out at the expanse of white. The farmhouse was an old building, built in the typical style of the 1940s, with two storeys and a basement, encircled by a porch. From the porch the yard spread out with a driveway nestled between the house and the barn. The garden was buried under at least a foot of snow and still the snow – fat, lazy fairytale flakes – fell softly. Cas watched his breath come in white cloudy puffs while Sam giggled and pawed a mittened fist at the falling snow.

Dean had made a couple of snow angels and was now studiously attempting to form it into balls. Cas put Sam into his stroller and pushed/carried it into the yard, pulling the cover over top so that the infant could watch. Cas gathered up a few fistfuls of snow into his own mittens; it was a little on the wet side, but not bad on the whole, and it held together well.

“Hey Dean,” he said, “How would you like to build a snowman?”

“Can we?” Dean asked, delighted.

“Of course. If I understand the method then we start off with a snowball and roll it on the ground so that it picks up more snow and thus gets bigger.”

At first Dean had found the way Cas talked to be weird, but he was getting used to it. He nodded, “Okay. I'll make a ball first.”

Dean made a ball and set it on the ground. He began to roll it. It picked up the snow as it went, leaving a strip of brown grass behind, and Cas assisted him as it got bigger and had to be rolled in different directions to be kept even. They got a nice big base and rolled it until it was near the front porch. Then they set off with a second ball for the middle. Once the snowman was basically made Dean stood back to look at it.

“I'm going to go into the house to get something, why don't you go find some sticks for arms?”

“Okay,” said Dean. Dean got the arms, two branches which flared off into twigs at the ends, and Cas emerged with old scarves he'd found in the attic, carrots, walnuts in their shells, and a bucket of rocks that Dean had been playing with on the porch. These Dean used to give the snowman a carrot nose, eyes of walnuts, and a grinning mouth of stones. He wrapped the scarf around the snowman and nodded, looking at Castiel.

“He looks just like you.”

“Does he now?” Cas asked, not quite seeing the resemblance, “Good job.”

“I'm gonna make more,” Dean announced.

“Okay,” said Cas. He wasn't sure how long babies were allowed to stay out in the cold, but he had a feeling it wasn't too long and it was getting near 10am which was time for Sam's second bottle and nap. “I need to take Sammy inside, you'll be okay out here for a bit?”

“Yup!” Dean said. Cas didn't doubt it, and he could watch from the kitchen window anyway so he went inside and set to undressing Sam and changing his diaper. That done he set him in his highchair and began to heat up a bottle on the stove. While that was heating he turned on the oven and took a roll of cookie dough from the freezer and sliced off a dozen shortbread cookies onto a baking sheet. The trick of keeping dough in the freezer helped immensely when it came to snack time, and since he was making hot chocolate he really did need cookies to go with it. Once Sam had the warm bottle in his greedy little hands Cas started to make the hot chocolate in the same pot, heating up the milk and then adding the chocolate syrup, stirring constantly to encourage it to dissolve. He turned it down to a low simmer and wrapped Sam in a blanket on his shoulder, pulled his boots on, and went out to call Dean inside.

“Look Cas, it's us!”

There in front of the porch were three snowmen of varying sizes. Clearly Dean had put a great deal of effort into building them. Cas, who had been reading up on the importance of consistent praise for young children, could stretch his imagination, “Wow Dean, they're great!”

He looked at the snowmen for as long as he felt was necessary. Sam, in his arms, was getting chilled so he said, “I've got some hot chocolate on the stove, let's go in before it starts to burn.”

“Yeah, hot chocolate!” Dean cheered and stormed in. He removed his wet clothes on the rug in front of the door, as Cas instructed, though his pants underneath were still wet at the cuffs and some snow had gotten down the neck of his jacket to soak his shirt. He was shivering ever so slightly and Cas was glad to plunk a mug of hot chocolate in front of him.

“Careful, it's hot.”

“Mhmm,” Dean said, carefully wrapping his hands around the bottom of mug to warm them.

“Let it cool down for a moment. I'm going to put Sammy down for his nap, when I get back the cookies should be ready.”

“I thought I smelled cookies,” Dean said.

Dean behaved; Cas had half expected him to have burnt his tongue on the hot chocolate, but he seemed to have held himself back, perhaps he had learned since the last time Cas served him the hot beverage.

Cas took out the cookies and put two on a saucer for Dean and two on another one for himself. He poured himself the last of the hot chocolate and laid it all out on the table with the warning, “Careful, these are hot still.”

“Can I make snowmen at school?”

“Yes, of course. There will be other children your age who you can build them with. Other things too, snow forts and the sort. I believe snowball fights are also popular among children. Does that sound like fun?”

“I guess,” said Dean, taking a sip of his now-cooled hot chocolate, “I like doing it alone, but with more people it might be funner.”

“Would you be willing to give it a try?” asked Cas.

“Okay.”


End file.
